Who Wants To Live Forever?
by Forbiddensoul562
Summary: No… this was not like a train wreck waiting to happen. This is one that had already occured, and now the bodies of innocent lives were scattered, dead. And the citizens are all too stunned to do anything but stand and stare. USUK. plz r


A/N: I got the idea for this one-shot while reading another fic, which was basically focusing on the fact that, as nations, they can't die. I thought that this was quite tragic, actually. And since I used to be so good at writing angst, I decided to give the genre another shot, and see what I can do with it. So… let me know what you think about it. I really put my heart into it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or any of the characters that are in this fic. Nor do I own the title, just for safety.

Title: Who Wants To Live Forever?

When America stepped through the doorway that evening, he instantly knew there was something wrong with the atmosphere of Arthur's house. He'd stayed here enough over the years to know just how Arthur liked to keep the place, and this certainly wasn't it.

Normally, at this time, he was used to walking into the warm house and being greeted with the smell of England's terrible food filling every room. However, the aroma of fresh, warm tea would cover the smell, and America was able to stand it. While he didn't like drinking tea, he did love the smell of it. It was almost as relaxing as drinking it seemed to be, for people like Arthur.

There would be light filtering in from the nearby kitchen, and he would enter in to find England sitting at the table. Alone, yes, but seemingly completely content with that. America always thought that he could see that emotion in those olive green orbs, which would move up to him, and sparkle a bit brighter.

But, tonight, there was nothing of the sort.

Tonight, this place was not a home. It was not even a house, anymore.

But more of a prison, than anything, really. It didn't feel like that to America, for all he saw in these walls was the old memories, of better, brighter, days. But he knew the feeling was there. For one occupant…

Something in America's body told him that he should be freaking out, that he should act on every twitching fiber in his body that told him to run. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't find the ability to do it, for whatever reason there ever could be. Maybe it was shock that kept him still.

The house was completely dark –only being lit from the warm light filtering in from the setting sun of the evening. The bottom floor of Arthur's house was empty, and as America entered into the kitchen where Arthur would normally be, he noticed instead all the broken dishes on the ground.

He knelt down and picked up a piece of glass, noticing his reflection in it that starred back at him seriously. In this moment, he didn't look like himself. He looked more like… well… someone stronger, someone older. Someone who protected him, at one time.

He couldn't help but tell himself how long ago that felt, now.

Something suddenly erupted within America, and he dropped the glass, finally listening to his nerves and taking off out of the kitchen and towards the stairs. "Arthur!" He shouted out, to wherever his idol may be. "Arthur!"

He threw open doors wherever he reached them, finding every room just as dark and empty as the rest of the house had been, that is, until he finally opened Arthur's bedroom door, and stopped instantly at the sight.

Leaning against the opposite wall as America, he took in the sight of England, body trembling, head down, and his arms at his side revealing wrists that'd been slashed open and blood pooling around his body. Despite this, America had enough sense left in him to know England was still alive… he had to be.

Everything was silent, and growing darker, as if even the heavens did not want to have to bear witness to this tragedy any longer. Even America did not want to see this, but it was one of those train wreck situations.

No… this was not a train wreck waiting to happen. This is one that had already happened, and now the bodies of innocent lives were scattered, dead. And the citizens are all too stunned to do anything but stand and stare.

England was trembling, and America could just tell he was crying which tore his heart up inside… he hadn't seen England cry since the Revolution. What had… pushed him to such a state? He tried hard not to think of all the possibilities.

England was supposed to be strong… to be a great empire. Alfred almost wished he hadn't come here tonight to have to bear witness to this. It would surely haunt him for years to come, if he could even see Arthur the same way again.

"Arthur…" He breathed out, unable to find any other words to completely convey every thought that raced through his mind beyond his control.

England's head of blonde hair lifted, till his green eyes met Alfred's blue ones. Something in the look broke his heart more than the scene itself had. There was no longer the sparkle in them that he watched appear whenever their eyes met. There hardly even seemed to be any life left in him now. There was no witty retort, like, _'you're late, git,'_ that he would have expected.

When America finally gained control of himself again, he ran forward and collapsed in front of England, ignoring the blood that soaked into his pants as he pulled Arthur closer to him, as tightly as he could.

"Arthur, wh-,"

"I couldn't, America! I can't even… I can't even finish…" Arthur choked out, his voice hoarse from sobs Alfred was thankful he hadn't been there to hear. He felt that if he had been there to hear any of it, it would have ripped him to shreds, much more so than this already was.

Even so, with his eyes closed he could still imagine his guardian in a fit of insanity screaming, breaking things, and desperate for some escape. It hurt Alfred, but the image wouldn't leave him.

"Alfred, Arthur… it's Alfred! Now hush, just be quiet…" His fingers threaded through England's blonde hair and made sure that he was unable to pull away. He hated the thought of England using his country name, instead. It seemed to cut the ties between them, and Alfred knew he needed to have that established now. As he closed his eyes, he let himself rest on exactly what was taking place in front of him.

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. He always held his composure in front of everyone, but behind that… even _Alfred_ could tell there was a storm going on, though one of such magnitude that America could not comprehend it all. He wasn't sure if Arthur could either, though.

And now, something had pushed England to the brink, and this is what it had brought him down to. This was what became of him, what he resorted to --a desperate attempt to escape life. The cowards way out… but when one becomes desperate enough…

Of course, death was not possible for them. As nations, they were to live as long as their countries did, and America didn't doubt that this was what England was trying to tell him. _'I can't die…'_ He mentally finished Arthur's statement.

Sure, if he wanted it bad enough, America thought, if England could destroy every city within his country and drive it into the ground. But this was not about his country. This was a selfish purpose. This was him trying to escape the emotional pull that came along with being a nation. The isolation, having no one there for you. To help you. To listen to you. Everything their citizens took for granted.

"I'm here, Arthur…" America told him, trying to think of some way to help him. While there was no chance of death for England, he knew he couldn't just let him sit here against the wall and continue to bleed until there was nothing left in him.

Just as Alfred leaned back and placed a gentle kiss on Arthur's forehead, the Brit desperately tried to pull his shaking body away from him, "S-shut up!" He told him. "No you're not! You're not here! You left just like everyone else did! I have no one…" His head fell again, as his shoulders shook while his eyes shed new tears.

America brought his hands to cup England's face and bring him to look at him straight, "Arthur, listen to me, I'm here now for you, alright? I… I'm the hero, remember? What kind of hero would I be if I didn't help save you?"

England's diverted green eyes told America exactly what he was thinking: _'If that's true… then why didn't you notice before?' _It was that which caught Alfred, and let him in enough to understand what all of this was about; what had driven Arthur to something like this.

He was alone, now. America had to try and remember… England used to be such a huge empire, and took care of so many other nations, just like himself. But, like children, they had all grown up, and gained their independence from him whether Arthur was ready for it or not.

What did he have left once they were gone?

The world was so small, nowadays, there was no other nation for him to take under his wing, to look after, and to protect from whatever dangers the unpredictable world held. The thought reminded Alfred of being small, and how happy he used to be when England came to visit, and he'd want to spend every moment with him.

Alfred gave a small, weak smile as he kissed his forehead once more, "Didn't you hear me? I told you I'm here. I'm still here for you." He bit his lip, a bit, "You still… have a lot to teach me." He admitted quietly, feeling his pride take it's leave in favor of helping Arthur.

Alfred felt the way Arthur trembled once more, but this time, it was thankfully from laughing lightly, not from his tears. America was thankful for that. "Like what, you git?" At least his humor was coming back, again.

Alfred threaded his fingers through Arthur's hair, "Where do I start… how to eat things other than hamburgers, how to dress, how to be a more cultured nation? You're not done teaching me, I'm just… stubborn. Guess who I learned it from, eh?"

Arthur was quiet for a long time, so much so that America wondered for a second if Arthur had even heard him. Finally, he felt the other's hands reach up, finding the strength again as the wounds were beginning to heal, to cling onto the material of his jacket.

Alfred couldn't help himself as he said, "You're going to get blood on my jacket, you know…" It was probably a bit insensitive, but he couldn't help let it slip past that little filter in his brain that told one when to speak and when to just shut up. England probably swore he didn't have one, anyway…

"I'll… wash it for you." Arthur told him quietly. "I want to."

America nodded, "Alright, alright." He said with a small smile, understanding. "But not right now. At least wait until your strength is back." Despite England's stubborn huff, America could see past it all. They just knew each other too well for even _him_ to overlook it.

Arthur didn't have anyone anymore. But, he was the type of person who just needed to have someone there to talk to, to listen to him, and to help out when the time came. America leaving him was really hard for him take -even Alfred knew that. It meant he had no one.

To help Arthur, what he knew he needed to do was be there, and listen to him, and give him someone to fuss over if the time called for it. Sure, America had a pride, but he could find no better way to repay England for raising him, and not to mention putting up with his stubborn nature.

The end

A/N: Yeah, I'm still not satisfied with the way the ending turned out... The original ending, I admit, was quite cliché, but with the help of a few people, it was changed around into this. It still doesn't feel conclusive, to me, but I was done trying to mess around with it anymore. In any case, I still feel like this fic is missing something, but I couldn't figure out what that was, so I finally gave up. Please let me know what you think. All comments are welcome.

Please review!  
_-Forbiddensoul562_


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